complexguy | ★ but I'm going to be okay as long as you're beside me along the way

Juliet bumps him back, but then she's quiet, thinking about his question. It shouldn't be a hard one, but she doesn't know what she deserves. What does she deserve for wishing Edmund's death? What does she deserve for promising and failing to fix nine women? What does she deserve for murdering someone who used to be a friend?

Swallowing, she blinks quickly, looking out at the dark and turns his question around on him.

They're the same, after all.

"Do you, about yourself?"

He gives a little sigh at that; not because he's annoyed by the question, not at all. Just because that's been a lifelong struggle.

"Ain't no easy answer for that. I know you get me."

She does get him, and in a show of solidarity, she tips her head and rests it against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

Juliet doesn't even have anything to say, she just wants to sit here with him, listening to the faint music coming from the rec center. After a while, she finishes her punch and murmurs quietly.

"Wanna go home?"

"'Bout the only place I wanna be right now."

Home. With her.

Though his only regret is having to move, and losing the warmth of her head on his shoulder.

She doesn't appear to be in a hurry, but finally, she sighs softly and stands, reaching out for his hand to help him up.

There's a soft smile on her face, contentment written across her features, and she realizes this might be one of the only peaceful moments she's ever had on this island. And of the few she's had now, James was always with her.

Or the reason for it.

He holds on to her hand for a moment longer than he really needs to, and then he lets go slowly, walking close to her as they head back to their little house.

"Who'd have figured I'd need to get stranded on a damn mystery island thirty years in the past to have my own house to settle in," he muses aloud, smirking but serious as well. "Maybe even some sorta respectable life."

She hums her acknowledgment of his words.

"Well. How does it feel?" Instead of going directly inside with him, she stands on the porch, facing him now.

"You're part of something now, we all are, because you protected us. I'd say that was a great head start toward respectable, James."

He looks her over for a moment, eyes lingering on hers, while one hand comes to rest against his hip. Then he stares out, just thinking.

"You're gonna give me all that credit, Juliet?"

"Yeah," she says quietly, just watching him, her eyes slowly moving over his face, trying to memorize for some reason. This is something she wants to remember, she thinks. This night.

"Yeah, I am, James. It wasn't me talking to Horace in there. That was all you."

"Ain't a person in my whole damn life believed in me, Juliet. Maybe if you do, I can believe it, too."

In return, he hopes that she might believe in herself because he does. It's a start, anyway.

"Hey," Juliet murmurs, and before she can think much about it, she's hugging him in an attempt to reassure him.

Once her arms wind around his shoulders, she squeezes gently. "I told you you're better than you give yourself credit for. Still true."

She pulls back, feels cold, and turns to open their door, flipping on the light as they go inside.

He's never even just been hugged like this, and he kind of wishes time would flash again, but freeze. Right here in this moment. Whatever else is true, he knows she cares about him, and he never wants to let go of how good that feels.

He holds on to her tightly until she pulls back, but once they're inside, he reaches out for her wrist lightly.

"Hey. 'Fore you get to bed, I need to hear it. The way you've been treated all these years, all the worst kind of people trappin' you and makin' you feel less than. I need to know you get it, that you deserve better. Tell me."

She didn't expect to be put on the spot this way, and she feels her entire body flush as she swallows, looking to the side as her lips part and she tries to say it. She hesitates, closing her mouth again because tears fill her waterline.

Juliet has no idea how he gets under her skin this way, but he does, and it's terrifying but exhilarating at the same time.

It shouldn't take this long, she knows it, and she finally pushes her free hand through her hair.

"I know."

"You ain't less than, Juliet. You're better than," he says firmly, keeping his hand around her wrist, pressing his thumb there tenderly.

She doesn't know how she got from the porch to now, from smiling to wanting to sink into his arms and cry again.

When she finally looks up at him, it makes a tear slide down her cheek.

"How do you know?"

"I ain't good with words like some people. I can only tell ya what I see. And what I see-" He steps a little closer, looking down for a moment before raising his head again.

"I see someone who came here 'cause she thought she could help people. She stayed so she could help her sister. She gave up goin' to Michigan to help her sick ma. When some goddamned flaming arrows were rainin' down around us, she was stoppin' to help people. And when she coulda got off this island, this woman whose heart's too big for her own good, she stuck around for a guy who didn't deserve it. So how do I know? I know you're better than 'cause that's who you are, Juliet. You never stop helpin' anyone, and you been shit on for it all your life. Ain't gonna let that happen again."

She's dumbstruck by his words, unable to say anything as she looks up at him, nothing but shock on her face. Never has anyone said anything like this to her before and her first thought actually makes it past her lips.

"How could you not possibly see how good you are?"

But then, it's as if her thoughts and his words catch up to her and she sways against him until she's pressing against his chest, crying softly as her arms wind around his middle tightly.

He can't think of how to respond, because his own self-loathing is hard to talk about sometimes. But he wraps her up in his arms when she reaches for him, and he just holds her securely, with one hand on the back of her head.

This feels so nice that she doesn't want to pull away; just being held again is an incredible feeling, a sensation she had no idea she was starved for.

She does eventually pull back though, wiping at her eyes and sniffling.

"Thank you. Thank you for saying that, James." He has no idea how much that meant to her, how much it always will.

He honestly didn't know that just the act of holding someone, holding her, could feel so good. Down to his soul; down to the depths of a soul he didn't think he had once.

When she pulls back, he gives her a little smile. "See ya in the mornin', Blondie."

"Night, James," she says with a soft smile, disappearing into her room. She sits quietly for a while on her bed after undressing and changing into pajamas.

She's never been looked after before, cared for, and she knows this is where she's supposed to be now. And she cries, not because she's sad, but because finally, after three years, she's letting go of Rachel and Julian. She's never getting back, but maybe, finally, the idea of it doesn't leave her feeling aching and hollow. She falls asleep, thinking about James.

Their routine is easy and comfortable, falling into a quiet routine of working around one another's schedules. They still go out into the jungle, but now it's in their own spare time. She never stops thinking about the way he makes her feel and the way she leans into his touches now.

Somehow she finds out he really likes the DHARMA waffle mix, so she wakes up early on their Saturday off, and standing barefoot in the kitchen in shorts and a white t-shirt, she makes the waffles with bacon, brews some coffee, and just waits for him to wake up while she sits at the table, just drinking coffee for now while reading a book.

James finally shuffles out about thirty minutes later, a sleepy smile on his face as he sweeps his hair back from his eyes.

"Well, hey there, starshine," he breathes out, inhaling the aroma of coffee. "Smells good in here."

As he steps further in the kitchen, seeing the spread of food, his eyes widen. "You made those waffles I like? Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm damn grateful."

She smiles at him when he walks in.

"Hey, you," she says softly, contently. "I ordered a box of the mix. I've never seen such a fan of waffles," Juliet teases lightly before--without thinking about it--getting up and pouring him a cup of coffee and handing it over to him.

It feels second nature, easy to do, normalcy she's been craving.

She ordered a box, specifically to make waffles for him, and he doesn't even know how to fully process what he's feeling right now. It's more than he's ever felt before for anyone, he knows that.

Tipping his head to her in thanks, he takes the coffee with a smile.

"Hope you ate a few before I woke up, 'cause you ain't gettin' any now," he teases back.

"I had three. Or four," she says primly, sitting back down with one leg curled under her body.

"Did you wanna go out looking today?"

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